Chief walks through the ship, listening to the music, placing his lovely face against the steel, like a child, eyes closed, innocent. Not even afraid, just listening as hard as he can, feeling something he can't describe. Something like water, and the sounds across the water, like jumping from the highest place in the hangar bay, like being a child again, carried by something larger than himself. Jam yesterday and jam tomorrow, but today: That thing he keeps looking for.
Lee and Lampkin agree that a mistrial's their best option -- the long and short of it is that every witness they destroy (Tigh, Laura) is another brick in the wall, because the Fleet hates Gaius Baltar. Of course, Gaius doesn't get it, and starts pissing his pants, so Lee goes a little... Lee, baby. Take a frakkin' nap. You are making it so very hard to love you, and that was never your job. That was hers. "You didn't hear what my father just called you," Lee says, losing the war by winning this momentary battle. Playing the Baltar game. "He called you a traitorous piece of garbage, a man who doesn't even deserve a trial." Lampkin's ears perk the fuck up; Baltar cries and whines some more. "Right, so now because we're winning we're losing, actually?" Gaius Baltar: Getting It Eventually, Since Time Began. "Perverse, isn't it? One of the reasons why I love what I do." So hot. Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it. Lee reads from another one of his grandfather's books, and in so doing reveals what a legal dilettante he really is -- and that his grandfather was a crap writer: "Forcing a mistrial may seem of little benefit to either side, but in fact, it can be a boon to the defense. The prosecution's shown their hand; at retrial the defense has all the tactical advantages, and the statistical chances of an acquittal rise by 25%." Joseph Adama, Trial Tactics & Strategies, page 273. Lampkin calls Joseph a "smart man," and Baltar goes... in another direction entirely.